Digging Deeper
by Aurorax
Summary: A series of short drabbles I did for the prompts at Goldenlake, covering all different characters from SotL and PotS. Now featuring a first-year Joren and Wyldon's reflections.
1. Pony

100-word drabbles written for prompts at Goldenlake (the link is in my profile). Check it out, they have some great writing and interesting prompts.

Disclaimer: These are TP's characters, not mine.

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**Title: **Pony

**Prompt: **Colour

The first time Neal had made the room glow emerald during one of his many tantrums, everyone in the family had rushed over to the child. They said he had the Queenscove Gift, his father's strength. Dom had been forgotten, locked outside, trying to make colors in the rain.

Then Neal had come to find him and asked for help with the new pony; it was so very big. And Dom knew everything would be all right. He couldn't heal, no, but he could beat even the older boys with a sword, and they were to be pages come fall.


	2. Protection

**Title: **Protection

**Prompt: **Hauntings

Tobe didn't know the way, but the horse wouldn't let him fall. It was dark and cold, and the image of fires still blinded his tear-whipped eyes. Everything was fire, blackness and white-hot heat, the darkness of his heart and the burn of anger that this could happen to their Haven.

As the familiar faces began to dance before his eyes, Tobe thought he was dreaming. But as the trumpet calls jerked him awake at the gates, he knew that they had been guiding him to her. To Kel. Because she would make it better; she would get them back.


	3. Letters

**Title: **Letters

**Prompt: **Addiction

They got letters with tea. Over the last few months it had grown from a welcome reminder of better times to a source of anxiety- Were the roads truly that bad? It had been two weeks. And then the pauses started, the moment they all needed to brace themselves for the knowledge that this might be the letter, the last one. That they would open it to look upon a stranger's hand and stranger's apology. Now that news of the rescue mission had reached Corus, it was simply an addiction. Not everyone would make it- but they had to know.


	4. Squire Swap

**Title: **Squire Swap

**Prompt: **Switch

It wasn't the first time Raoul had written this type of letter, but it was certainly the hardest. It wasn't his fault- the mages still didn't know what the strange machine was, and no amount of training could defeat death. But the fact remained that this was Baird's final son; the words just wouldn't come.

_She watched her former squire half-fall pale upon the iron threshold, blinded by the swirling colors as all the mages in the room searched unsuccessfully for traces of protective spell. As accusations of trickery rained down regardless, Alanna wondered once again why they had insisted._


	5. Legacy

**Title: **Legacy

**Prompt: **Numbers

She was four when she first asked about her name. Grandpa Myles had spent the afternoon giving Roald history lessons, and she had sat outside listening until the nurse came to take her away. No one ever mentioned Kalasin.

She was nine when she finally got an answer, from her godmother. It was Buri who found her and held her in the forest after the last meeting with Father.

Anyone who watched her ride said it was the K'miri blood. Only Roald noticed the cuts and bruises, the hours of hidden practice; but he wouldn't tell. Everyone needed a legacy.


	6. The King's Own Girl

**Title: **The King's Own Girl

**Prompt: **Villian

She watched the lone man's back with eyes as bleak as the Scanran winds that whistled between the long tent rows. Not a single tear escaped, but they didn't expect any to. She had learned long ago to be stone.

She was Kel, their Kel. No man would live long enough to watch himself break her heart.

When they caught the same pain mirrored in his gaze, they slowly relaxed grips on sword hilts and belt knives. It hadn't been easy for either then- but that didn't mean he hadn't hurt her.

Their girl was better off without a man.


	7. Burning

These next two are longer, not true 100-word drabbles. But you could probably see that for yourselves.

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**Title: **Burning

**Prompt: **Food

There were mountains of food everywhere, piled high on the straining tables. The smell of opulence alone was enough to turn his stomach, grown accustomed to plain hearty fare. But no amount of excess could distract the eye from what was missing, all the sparkle and gold making the room a gilded jewelry box full of worthless trinkets.

When the dancing started, the lack was even more noticeable, women wandering around helplessly carrying plates of dainty sweets for something to do with their hands. But Master Oakbridge had insisted on maintaining tradition, and he had cared too little to argue.

Now, releasing his new wife's hand to dance with the maid of honor, who should have been entwined in a different set of arms, he regretted not putting up a fight. At least it would have been fighting for something.

When the few whirling couples on the dance floor began to blur into enemy soldiers before his eyes, he finally gave up all pretence of decorum and excused himself, striding into the warm clear night.

There were flickering spots of light in the distance; could they be funeral pyres? Normally he was haunted by images of his friends burning, the ribbons of smoke and final words of blessing slowly fading away. But now he knew better- deep in enemy country, their bodies would be honored by none but the Stormwings.

His wife found him on the north-facing balcony, gazing out at the stars with eyes that were not his own.


	8. Scars

**Title: **Scars

**Prompt: **Healing

They had died doing their duty to country and crown, honoring their family name and making their teachers and training master proud. They had died heroes. And it wasn't as if he hadn't seen death before; no, of anyone in the country, he was perhaps the most familiar with the Black God's barren gates. But it had never hit so close to home.

At first, they admired his dedication, returning to work so soon after the tragedy. To lose two sons in one battle. Then, as one late night blurred into the next, full of endless rows of dead and dying, the whispers started. He didn't notice; he was too busy, trying to save just one more.

This one stood out amongst all the others, because it was his son, and because it was the girl. His last remaining son, still caught up in that silly idea of his about becoming a knight. If Baird had his way, there would be no more knights. And maybe no more letters to young wives and bereft mothers. No more heroes.

Neal looked protectively down at his young charge, much more concerned than she was about the colorful bruises blossoming across her face and arms. Well, Nealan had always needed a project, and he had always loved to keep the world on its toes. If he wanted to watch over this one, he was going to have a time of it, that much was clear. But he was glad to see the boy caring again.

There were so many different ways of surviving, confronting, coping…of maybe, with time, of healing. Yes, she would be good for him.

Years had passed, and now there was a new war, a new group of young men to patch back into the nearest possible semblence of their former selves, knowing that nothing ever fit back together perfectly. There would always be scars.

It brought back the old memories, the ones that he could never quite keep buried. The whispers had stopped, yes- he had gotten better at hiding it. But he wouldn't be able to go through it again; if he lost Neal, it would be over. The others had ridden out, just as strong, just as brave, their shields just as new, untried. And they had never ridden back.

Watching his son ride up to Kel's side, watching as she patiently reminded him to bring his sword, his compass, his water flask, Baird could only hope that she would always be there to look after him. Because he needed it, that was for sure. And he had been right, all those years before- she was certainly good for him.


	9. Make You Proud

Another one that turned out a little longer than I expected.

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**Title: **Make You Proud

**Prompt: **Puzzles

He followed it with his eyes as it shimmered in the first rays of dawn like a mirage, all beauty and grace and power. Untouchable. The thrill of the forbidden was what drew him in.

His lessons had started with one rule: you may only ride the pony. But now he wanted to ride the wild new stallion, just like his cousin did. And he always got what he wanted.

Hands fought for purchase on the sleek glossy mane; mouth opened to call for help but was paralyzed in a silent scream of terror. The paddock fence loomed ahead, inevitable, flying closer at a rate he hadn't imagined possible. There was no way to stop.

Then Roger was there, just beyond the rails, come to his rescue as always.

Their eyes met; but in his cousin's gaze was not the anger or disappointment he had been bracing for, knowing it would sting more bitterly than broken bones. No, Roger simply stood there, motionless, a small smile playing across his face.

It hit like lightning, the jolt that sent him skyward, only for a moment; then the rushing ground did not hesitate to renew its claim, down, down, ever faster. And finally…nothing. He was frozen for a single second, the tall grasses just brushing his chilled skin, before being gently lowered into their soft caress. He knew Roger wouldn't let him fall.

Mother said that some people were mysteries waiting to be solved, something he would appreciate when he was older. Which might be true- her advice usually was- but he was fairly sure no amount of years would provide a key to the lack of fury, the strange smile.

So Jon just allowed himself to believe that he had made his cousin proud. Some things were better not to know.


	10. Unrecognized

Back to 100 words. Warning for lightly-implied slash. A night of overindulgence on drink and heartbreak.

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**Title: **Unrecognized

**Prompt: **Excess

A face stared back at him, the ripples distorting features already half-foreign. He should not still be awake, not after the vigil he kept last night. Still he sat transfixed, caught up in the depth of pain and desire burning in bloodshot eyes.

Then he drank, washing away the face that was not his own with numbing amber fire. Now all that gazed back at him was emptiness.

He had loved the boy too much, who tonight was a boy no longer.

As the street outside buzzed with news of the Duke's death, Raoul raised another glass to Alan's memory.


	11. Refuge

Warning: The next two drabbles contain slash pairings (non-explicit).

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**Title:** Refuge

**Prompt:** Strange Bedfellows

Thayet had long considered Tortall home; she was content with her new life, content to forget what it hurt so badly to remember. To move on. But even twenty years, even the safety of Raoul's arms- Buri knew it would never be enough to make the horror fade.

The woman's stare still held remnants of the haunted look that would always be Sarain. Like a shared secret it drew Buri in, a ghost of connection weaving between them. How would they feel against her skin, those hands which had buried a husband and children?

They were refugees, seeking refuge together.


	12. Need

Warning: Non-explicit slash pairing. This one is actually 150 words. The last pair was intended to be Buri/Fanche, even though Fanche wasn't named.

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**Title: **Need

**Prompt:** Strange Bedfellows

_Dear Sir,_

_I apologize for writing to you like this, but I've nowhere else to turn. Father is dead, mother abed with the fever, and our stores in ruin. I was hoping you might be able to offer some advice…_

Cleon knew it was wrong. But then he was lost in the hazel eyes- they were her eyes- and it was almost as if the last few months were naught but the memory of a nightmare. So he let himself escape into the past once more, promising that this time would be the last.

Anders knew it was wrong. But then he remembered the war that he couldn't fight and the men that he couldn't save as he sat alone and broken among the old, the weak, the forgotten. So he let himself savor the feeling of being wanted, needed, once more, praying that this time would be the last.


	13. Approval

An experiment- one sentence, 100 words.

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**Title: **Approval

**Prompt: **Two of a Kind

Jon hesitated a single moment (he had wanted to spend time alone with Alanna's princess, to discover the reason her beauty was laced with tragedy and why, for every word she spoke, there were hundreds of others left unsaid) before extending the invitation to her young guard- they had put one another back together when their whole world fell apart, Thayet and Buri, and he suddenly realized that of all the reasons which might exist for being a good man and a good King, simply to earn that look of approval from the fierce K'miri girl would always be his.


	14. Facets

**Title:** Facets

**Prompt: **Magic

If anything good had come from the moment he first laid eyes on his cousin, newly-risen but still half-dead, and the too-bright mage who had resurrected him, it was that even now Jon could never hold the Dominion Jewel in his hands without seeing the darkest side of power reflected in every glowing facet and being reminded once more of just how much pride could cost.


	15. Flight

**Title: **Flight

**Prompt: **Race

He came in carelessly just as the first drops began to fall, windswept and ghost-pale but miraculously dry, and when he announced with a laugh that he had been racing the storm back to her, even the familiar warmth of his rain-scented kiss couldn't melt away the fear in her heart that she'd never be able to keep up.


	16. Ordeals

**Title: **Ordeals

**Prompt: **Behind Closed Doors

Everyone knew that you weren't allowed to speak in the Chamber of Ordeal; but she needed a reason, so she told herself that he had whispered her name with his last quivering breath as he was being crushed by the weight of his past, behind the iron door that had taken so much away.


	17. A Study In Oppositions

**Title: **A Study in Oppositions

**Prompt:** Once Upon a Time

It took him a long time to realize that he wasn't compromising. At first he had been almost disgusted with himself- she was so young, so vulnerable, and she looked so much like her mother. He wondered how many men there would be, who dreamed of a Queen and settled for a princess.

But Kally had something of her own, something special. There was an unquenchable energy that buzzed around her, charging his veins and forcing his eyes back, day after day. Always going just a bit too fast, hair flying loose and eyes tearing in the wind- she was their girl, the wild angel with a Rider's heart. No, he loved her for her fire, not for the beautiful image that was reflected imperfectly in her face.

A study in oppositions, that was what he called her when she was a child. And it was true. Her rebellion was the harmless rebellion of a caged animal, baring its fangs behind bars of iron to show the difference between captive and broken. When she ran away, no one went looking- she would be back, she knew her duty. But he admired her spirit, the way her fierce gaze asked for no pity; the way she accepted what was asked of her in life without complaint, what would be asked of her, and yet never stopped pushing at the edges of her boundaries, challenging the rules.

He told her she was the strongest woman he had ever known, the first day she kissed him. Her mother's generation had broken boundaries, and now it fell to her to mend them, weaving together two worlds without losing herself in the process. She hadn't been home long before she had sought him out, and he wondered for a moment if she really needed him or just someone to savor the last of her freedom with as the last of the winter snows melted and the world stood poised on the edge of change. But it didn't matter, not really; and they had finally found each other.

Two weeks they lived in a storybook scene, the princess and the Player. She was still so young, looking upon the world with fresh eyes, and he felt lighter, freed for a golden moment from the weight of old scars. But Kally reminded him she was too old to believe in fairytales, and the bitterness in her voice made him wonder if she ever had.

He remembered her face at that moment, the sorrow etched in the strong line of her jaw, the quiver so slight he almost missed it and the drop of blood that blossomed from her lip as she bit down hard. She didn't want him to see her cry, but she refused to drop her gaze and he couldn't turn away. As he rode through the rain that night, away from Corus, he remembered and he smiled despite the pain, because he knew she was fierce enough not to break and because no title could take that moment away.

By the time he returned to the Palace, she was gone, an Empress with a soldier's spirit in her breast and a soldier's taste on her lips. So Evin wept silently for the girl who didn't believe in fairytales, whom he had loved.


	18. Storybook

In response to some of the reviewers asking for a little more clarification, I've posted a list of the characters I was thinking about as I wrote each of these prompts on my profile. Most of them are meant to be slightly ambiguous- you can decide how you'd like to interpret what's happening- but I hope that clears up some of the confusion. If you still have questions, feel free to let me know! ~Aurorax

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**Title: **Storybook

**Prompt: **Happily Ever After

"C'mon Thayet, let's go on an adventure. You're supposed to be a princess, like in the books. We have to find your fairytale." The memory hit her suddenly, rising unbidden from a half-forgotten time. It felt comfortable, like the worn fit of an old sweater- these were better days, happier days, when she was still unnoticed by the world- but there was something unsettling lying just beneath the surface, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Even as a child, Buri had known that not everyone could afford a happily ever after.

Her hand paused lightly on the door handle as she listened for any break in the silence before easing her way into the room. Thayet had never seen Buri cry before; her presence now would bring no comfort, only shame. She had barely recognized her fierce, proud friend in the woman who had rushed passed her without a word, her clothing torn and her eyes stained with tears. Gazing down at her friend's sleeping form, Thayet wished that the man who killed giants could love the warrior instead of the princess; just this once, she wished the fairytales could be wrong.


	19. Can't Take It Back

Hi everyone! I moved all the Kel/Evin drabbles to a separate story, called Unbridled and Unbroken...I'll still post general drabbles with all different characters here. I also added a character list to my profile, to make some of the more ambiguous entries a bit easier to understand. This one's Merric angst, 100 words.

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**Title: **Can't Take It Back

**Prompt: **Disguise

Merric tried to disguise his anger, at least in front of his old training master. His temper flared like a match upon straw, threatening to burn him from the core. Not because it was a refugee camp, or because he wasn't commander- it was all because of her, the girl who shouldn't really be there in the first place. He thought it, and hated himself for thinking it; but he couldn't take it back.

He had believed that he was better than them, the close-minded conservatives and prejudiced soldiers. But really, Kel had just never stood in his way before.


	20. Other Girls

**Title: **Other Girls

**Prompt: **Lies

She was ten, she was beautiful, and the world was at her feet. She remembered sitting with her father when she was very young, feeling the rough scratch of his beard on her cheek as he whispered in her ear. "This is Tortall," he had said, "a place where women can do anything. You can be whatever you want". The words had echoed through her mind, speaking of freedom and ambition and silver keys that could unlock any door. She spoke them softly under her breath as she jumped her horse for the first time, and held her first bow. During the attack on the Swoop, she was too frightened even to whisper, so she played them in her mind, a fiery blaze of hope when the darkness seemed eternal. It made it that much harder, to learn that it had all been a lie.

She was ten, she was beautiful, and the world was at her feet. And in the end, it still wasn't enough. Because she was a princess, she was a Conte, and dreaming was for other girls.


	21. Stop

A third new drabble- I'm in a writing mood today. Warning: This one contains character death.

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**Title: **Stop

**Prompt: **Grinch

Midwinter was her favorite holiday, when vendors lined the streets and fireworks exploded like exotic flowers in the sky above her head. They were in Corus, at the Palace, and there was Daddy, finally out of his meeting. He had promised to take her to the carnival, to see the Players. She grabbed his large hand in her own small mittened one, dragging him out into the garden. It was beautiful after the light snowfall, the world like a perfect frosted cake, and she threw a handful of light crystals in the air, dancing and shrieking with delight as they fell like icy glitter through the air.

"Stop." The voice cut like ice, chilling her to the bones; she had never heard her father speak like that. He was angry, furious at her, and she didn't know why, or what to do. She turned to take his hand again- he had told her that she was his little princess, and that her smiles made all his troubles go away- but he was holding a letter, much too tight.

Then her aunt came and scooped her up without a word, as her mother brushed past, her face a mask of tears. She heard them say her brother's name, saw the letter slip from shaking hands to blemish the blanket of perfect purest white, and she wondered if Faleron would be back soon; they had said he was in the North, where it was colder, and there was even more snow. She missed him, but right now, she just wanted to go play in the snow again, and to visit the city. Because it was Midwinter, her favorite holiday, and she couldn't understand why everyone was crying.


	22. Malice

Don't forget to check my profile if you'd like a character list for these drabbles. Thanks for reading!

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**Title: **Malice

**Prompt: **Beginning

Wyldon always made sure to look hard at each new face as the new round of first years lined the hall; they were his responsibility now, each of their deaths another mark on his conscience to add to the endless tally.

Some shrank back, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, scuffing the floor with a boot or pulling nervously at a cuff- those were the weak ones, the followers. They would be the easy prey, the first to be tested; some would toughen up, but a few would leave, weeded out before the snows began. This wasn't a life for everyone.

Others stood tall, gaze fixed fiercely straight ahead, doing their fathers and their fiefdoms proud. They were the bold ones, too confident to go down without a fight; but when they fell- and they always did, eventually, just like every other first year before them- they fell the hardest. Because the confidence was often arrogance, a false sense of security that came from never having known pain. At home, these were lord's sons, their every whim catered to and their conceit fostered by loving lies. Here they were nothing, a lesson drawn in blood and bruises.

Something about the slight blond boy caught his attention right from the beginning. There was something icy in his gaze, a deep-buried cruelty tempered with a blazing determination and fierce pride. This one had something to prove, and he wasn't going to go down without a fight. There was something familiar about that stare, under all the delicate beauty, something that told Wyldon the boy from Stone Mountain would be one he'd never forget.

He was not surprised that Joren was the first to be sent to him, a dark bruise blooming across his fair skin and his pale hair matted with blood; the boy was cocky, making the drills look effortless with his natural talent and then taunting the struggles of the others with a smug smile. More than one boy had tried to wipe that smile off his face in the preceding week, but none had managed until now. That the three third-years who had jumped him would all enter sporting bruises, and one a broken arm, was unexpected, however- most pages couldn't handle themselves that well when so sorely outnumbered, let alone first-years barely a month into training.

The lines were said, the same that were always exchanged, each playing their part as if reading off a script. There was always a moment of hesitation with each new boy- would this be the one to break tradition?- but then they told the same lie, and Wyldon breathed a silent sigh of relief. Somehow he had known that Joren wouldn't tell, though; he was too strong for that.

Looking at the boy in front of him, who sat with the same arrogant smile, untroubled by his injuries, he knew that this was the one, the knight he would always be remembered for. For the briefest of instances there was a concerning glint of malice in Joren's eyes, something that spoke of still depths of cruelty deep enough to drown in. But then it was gone, and the icy gaze spoke only of reverence and respect, letting Wyldon know without words that he would do anything the training master asked of him.

He was just a boy after all, a beautiful, charming, talented boy. And boys needed their fun. So Wyldon let him go without a word, ready to watch his destiny unfold.


End file.
